Page 22 of Break Me, Daddy

“Finally,” she grumbled, yanking her jeans up over her bottom.

Opening the oven, he slid the pan holding their dinner onto a rack and closed the door again before turning to face her. “Come here, Francesca.”

Bottom lip puffed out in a pout, she dragged her feet—literally, a fact that had him swallowing a laugh when he noticed—as she crossed the kitchen to stand in front of him. “Yes?”

“Look at me, please.”

With a dramatic sigh, she forced her gaze up to meet his. “Yes?” she repeated, annoyance ringing clearly in her tone.

“When I tell you to do or not do something, are you going to listen?”

One shoulder jerked up in a shrug. “I dunno. Probably not.”

“Points for honesty, I suppose,” he said with a low laugh. “But I am not going to tolerate you continually putting yourself in danger. If it happens again, you’ll be writing lines and then going to bed early.”

Impossible man. “First of all, carrying a box of clothes up the stairs is hardly putting myself indanger. And second of all, you can’t send me to bed early! I’m not a child!”

“It’s an unnecessary risk considering you just got out of the hospital a few days ago after collapsing at a party. And yes, if you can’t act like an adult and make good decisions for yourself, then I can and will treat you like a naughty child.”

“Why can’t you just spank me?” she whined.

And then it clicked. Why she’d been so bratty all afternoon, even more so than usual. She wanted, maybe evenneededa spanking.

Guilt twisted his stomach. He wanted to spank her. Wanted nothing more than to have her over his knee, crying and begging and promising to be a good girl forever while he turned her bare ass a nice dark pink.

But it still felt like it was too soon. To him, she still looked too thin, too frail, though her cheeks had already lost some of the gauntness he’d noticed in the hospital. “When you’re stronger, we can revisit the spanking issue. For now, I am using the tools available to me. And if that means sending you to bed at seven or making you write lines until your hand falls off, then that’s what I’ll do. Understood?”

She stared him down for a long minute before finally giving in with a sigh. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. In the meantime, I have a project for you.”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What kind of project?”

“Go get your computer and meet me back here. Now, Francesca,” he added when she didn’t move.

Huffing loudly, she turned on her heel and stomped out of the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with her laptop bag slung over one shoulder. “What now?”

He pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit, and open your laptop. You’re going to make me a list.”

“What kind of list?” she asked even as she sat and did as he’d instructed.

“A food list. I want a list of your safe foods and a list of foods you specifically avoid.”

Fingers hovering over the touchpad on her computer, she froze, then slowly pulled her hand away. “No.”

“Yes, Francesca.”

“No.” Her voice was thick with tears now, tearing at his heart. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“Baby.” Crouching down beside her chair, he cupped her cheek, gently turning her head so she would look at him. “We’ve talked about this. Part of your recovery is working those ‘not safe’ foods back into your diet. And I can’t do that if you aren’t honest with me. I know some of them but I need as comprehensive a list as possible.”

“You’re going to make me eat things I don’t want.”

“Yes. Can you look me in the eye and tell me that’s not at least part of how you overcame this the first time? That this wasn’t part of your therapy back then, too?”

“No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

“Then this is what we’re doing, at least until we talk to your therapist. If she has a different treatment plan in mind, I’ll back off. But I promise we’ll keep it as simple as possible, just like we have been. One safe food and one forbidden food at each meal.”

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